


It's Not a Revolution

by synia



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: First Time, Humor, Living Together, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synia/pseuds/synia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things that changed after Nick moved in and one that didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not a Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Set during season two (but Nick and Juliette have broken up).

“Thanks again for dinner.” Nick said as he slid on his jacket at the door, getting ready to go meet Hank to investigate a new lead that had come up on their latest case. “I think I’m starting to enjoy vegetarian.”

Monroe looked up at him from his spot on the couch where he was getting ready to beat Rosalee at Scrabble. Nick was smiling earnestly in his direction.

Monroe opened his mouth without knowing what to say and looking for a moment like a fish, before settling for, “It really helps your bowel movement, huh?”

Nick huffed a laugh before muttering a ‘see you later’ and leaving.

Monroe turned and found Rosalee looking at him with a knowing smile.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She replied in a tone that clearly implied there was something. Her smile grew bigger.

Monroe rolled his eyes at her, “What?” he asked again, a little irritation seeping through in his tone. He already knew this was anything but good.

Rosalee shrugged, “I think it’s cute how smitten you are with him.”

Monroe’s eyes widened in incredulity, “Are you kidding me? I’m not smitten with anyone. And believe me, those aren’t two words _ever_ associated with Blutbaden. We don’t do cute.”

She nodded emphatically and for a moment Monroe thought he had gotten through to her. “Oh, I understand your reluctance to admit it. I mean, remember Angelina’s reaction when she thought _we_ were dating? I can’t imagine what other Blutbaden would say if they found out you were in love with a Grimm. Talk about forbidden love!”

“I’m not in love with him! We’re friends. Did you inhale something weird in your shop before coming here?”

Rosalee waved his concerns off, “So how’s living with him going?”

“It’s… okay, I guess.”

**_5 – the hours_ **

The thing was, Monroe was used to leaving alone. He had a routine, which was very important because it allowed him to maintain the peaceful lifestyle he had chosen. But of course when Nick had found himself in need of a home, it had been a no brainer for Monroe. Of course Nick could stay with him.

If Monroe thought Nick had disrupted his life before, than it was nothing compared to the present situation. Before, Nick used to call or show up at all hours of the day to talk to him, now that they lived together Nick was in or out of the house at all hours of the day _and_ the night. Monroe, being a Blutbad, had a keen sense of hearing, so as much as Nick tried to be silent when sneaking in at four am Monroe still heard him.

Obviously that came with Nick’s job, both as a detective and as a Grimm, so Monroe never complained. It did worry him though. Of course, ever since he had started considering Nick a friend he had worried about his safety, but it was all the more evident now when Monroe actually expected him to come back, or heard him leave at odd hours to follow a new lead.

That was why Monroe found himself trying to adjust his schedule to Nick’s, so that when Nick was home they would actually spend some time together. It wasn’t too taxing, considering Monroe worked at home, and Nick seemed to genuinely appreciate the company so Monroe got easily used to it. What he hadn’t realized was that he wasn’t the only one to worry.

“Monroe?”

Monroe opened his eyes and sleepily blinked up at Nick, who was standing next to the couch where Monroe had fallen asleep with his head on the armrest and the heavy weight of a book on his chest.

“You’re home,” he said with a sleepy voice, stretching his arms. The book fell to the floor and Nick bent down to pick it up and put it on the coffee table. He crouched down next to where Monroe was resting his head and smiled at him. He was very close and Monroe suddenly felt much more awake.

“I am, “Nick said, “Were you waiting up for me again? You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not… I was just reading,” Monroe denied lamely and Nick’s skeptical look told him he hadn’t believed him.

“Seriously, Monroe, I don’t want to disrupt your life anymore than I have already. I appreciate your concern and you know I like hanging out with you, but I don’t want you to lose sleep because of me unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“What time is it anyway?” Monroe asked as he got up, too bleary eyed to see any of his numerous clocks.

Nick gave him a small smile, “It’s half past ten.”

Monroe squeezed his eyes in shame, “Oh god, I’m getting old.”

Nick laughed, “No, you’re not, but this is what you get after waiting up past midnight for me for a week and waking up at six am every morning anyway. Go to bed. I promise unless I’m held hostage somewhere I will always be home for breakfast.”

Home. Nick considered his house home. He liked that.

**_4 – meals_ **

Monroe usually got up around six, made himself some coffee and dedicated thirty to forty-five minutes to Pilates – which he liked to do with a light stomach – before making himself some breakfast. Nick, true to his promise even before he made it, was always up at seven o’clock and came down to breakfast freshly showered.

For a guy who ate take-out four times a week and – true to the cop cliché – regularly snacked on donuts, Nick was a surprisingly healthy eater when it came to breakfast. He accompanied his morning coffee with fruit – apparently he loved oranges, who knew? – and whole grain cereal. The first time Monroe saw him make himself some breakfast he wasn’t fast enough at hiding his surprise and Nick noticed.

“I can eat healthy, too, you know,” he muttered, averting his eyes from Monroe’s.

Monroe found his obvious embarrassment quite funny and just a little bit adorable. “Of course, sorry. I was just surprised.” He gestured vaguely to the orange Nick was peeling.

“Aunt Marie got me into the habit when I was a kid. Now I just can’t start the day without eating some kind of fruit.”

Monroe nodded, “What about the cereal though? Most people consider whole grain a punishment.”

Nick shrugged, “I think it tastes good. Besides, if I eat anything else I get hungry one hour after breakfast. You can’t chase suspects with a growling stomach.”

Monroe couldn’t argue with that kind of logic.

The first Sunday after Nick’s promise to always be home for breakfast Monroe got another surprise. As he was finishing his exercises he started smelling something good coming from the kitchen and when he entered it he found Nick at the stove, flipping…

“Blueberry pancakes?”

Nick turned around and smiled brightly at him, “I knew I couldn’t keep it from you for long with your sense of smell. It’s my Aunt’s recipe. She used to make them every Sunday.”

Apparently, being unable to provide Nick with a sense of stability in housing, she had tried to create it with small traditions. On the table Monroe noticed a large bowl of fruit salad and two mugs, ready for the coffee which was already brewing.

“These are delicious!” Monroe said as they sat down to eat, “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

Nick smiled, “I really can’t. I just have a few staples that I know how to do well. I’m glad you like them! I wanted to do something nice to thank you for taking me in… I know it’s not much…”

“You’ve thanked me plenty already, don’t think I haven’t noticed all the dinners you bought me. You really don’t have to do this. I’m glad you’re here.”

Nick smiled, “I’m glad too.”

Monroe speared a piece of pancake on his fork and raised it in the air as if saluting Nick with it, “And kudos to Aunt Marie.”

**_3 – cello practice_ **

If there was one thing Monroe found more relaxing than Pilates, it was playing his cello. There was nothing like the sensation of losing oneself to the melody, letting your instinct take over and your hands move with the certainty that came from feeling like you were one with the instrument. Almost like the notes were flowing out of your own soul.

At first he kept his music to himself. It was a quiet island where he could refuge himself from the stormy sea that had become his life with Nick. He didn’t regret anything and most days he thanked whatever power had brought Nick to his house that fateful night, because he couldn’t imagine his life without him around anymore. Still, he welcomed the peace and quiet of those moments, it distracted him from his worries and recharged him.

One late afternoon Nick came home sooner than expected and found him in the middle of playing some Bach. Monroe was too absorbed to notice him at first and when he did he found Nick sitting on his sofa looking weary. His gaze was lost somewhere that wasn’t this room, but as the music went on he seemed to relax and when it was over he gave Monroe a small smile.

After that Monroe stopped planning his cello sessions for when Nick wasn’t home and instead just played when he felt like it. And if sometimes – when Nick came home looking haunted or furious and retreated to his room – Monroe took out his cello just because it was sure to draw him out of his room and his funk, well… that was just what good roommates do.

**_2 – repairs_ **

Monroe would have loved to say that Nick was the kind of guy who helped out at home. That was not to say he was a bad roommate, in fact he was a pretty good one. He didn’t act like a guest, didn’t expect Monroe to do stuff for him. He kept his room and bathroom clean, made his bed and cleaned after himself when he used the kitchen. When he didn’t have time to go grocery shopping for himself he left money and a list for Monroe and than thanked him by picking up dinner at Monroe’s favorite vegan place.

Of course with his job Nick didn’t have much time for chores or grocery shopping, let alone small repairs to be made on the house or his car. What he did have was a fan base of handy Eisbibers, which included electricians, plumbers and mechanics and whose other specialties went from carpentry to basket weaving.

Monroe ended up benefitting from all that help. It was like Nick had his own team of magical elves. Something broke? In a just a few hours somebody was around to repair it, complimentary cake on the house. Monroe didn’t even know how they _knew_ , since Nick rarely had to pick up the phone. He tried asking Bud once but all he got were rambling reassurances and apologies and…

“Anything for Nick’s not-husband.”

“We’re roommates, Bud. Just friends. You know that. You’re his friend too.”

“Of course. Of course. This is from my wife,” he added as he placed a huge pie in Monroe’s hands.

**_1 – reputation_ **

Monroe’s reputation had been pretty much shot to hell when Nick had attached himself to Monroe in his first months as a Grimm. After getting used to what seemed like a new limb in his body, Monroe came to realize he could pretty much divide people in three categories. People too stubborn to even consider the idea of a Grimm like Nick and wanted to beat up Monroe for being a traitor (bad news for Monroe but especially bad news for them if Nick ever found them), people who came around to the possibility of someone as different as Nick but still feared what it meant, and then – Monroe’s favorite people – those who came around to it and respected them for it. These were the kind of people you could count as allies when in a pinch, people who, as scared as they might get sometimes, wanted to be part of the new order. Even if that meant being on the same team as a Blutbad _and_ a Grimm.

Monroe was probably biased, but he thought they made a great team.

As for the wild rumors that spread after Nick moved in? Those he could have lived without.

**_+1_ **

There was one thing that didn’t change after Nick moved in. Monroe liked him. Of course they were friends and that was fine and well, but after a while of knowing the guy Monroe had had to admit – at least to himself, _never_ to Rosalee – that it was more than just friendship on his side. He thought after a while of living together he wouldn’t be able to stand the guy anymore and that would cure him of the utter craziness of his feelings, but that didn’t happen either. If anything, living with Nick had only made his feelings grow stronger and the closeness was driving Monroe up the wall.

That was why when he came home one night to find the table set with his best plates and glasses and an expensive red wine he thought he must have gone off the deep end. That couldn’t _possibly_ be a romantic dinner prepared by what looked like a very nervous Nick.

“I ordered in from that vegan place you like so much,” Nick supplied.

And was that a new shirt he was wearing?

“This is crazy,” Monroe muttered miserably, greeting his sanity goodbye.

“Monroe, it’s just dinner,” Nick’s tone was placating, “It doesn’t have to be anything else if you don’t want to.”

That gave Monroe pause. Maybe he wasn’t as crazy as he thought. “What did you want it to be?”

Nick shrugged, looking a bit defeated, “What does it look like?”

“It looks like you want to wine and dine me,” and from the guilty look on Nick’s face that was exactly it. “Why here at home? I could have easily misunderstood this. It’s not like we never eat together.”

“I thought if it went badly it would be easier to patch things up at home than in a public place.”

So Nick was afraid of being rejected and worried about their friendship. That was sweet and flattering all in one package. Monroe couldn’t help but smile at him.

“A red shirt, really? Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

Nick laughed at that, a little bit of tension slipping out of him, “You said it’s your favorite color.”

Monroe stepped closer to him, “You really don’t need that to make me like you.”

They looked at each other for a moment. It was Nick who took the final step that brought them so close they could breathe each other’s air and then they were kissing. Neither of them knew who had leaned in first, they just met in the middle and it was everything Monroe had ever imagined and more. Nick’s scent enveloping him, his light stubble under Monroe’s fingertips as he caressed his cheek, his hands in Monroe’s hair.

When they let go of each other they were slightly out of breath and smiling like two lunatics.

Monroe, realizing something, suddenly groaned.

“What?” Nick asked, slightly alarmed.

“Rosalee is going to be so smug about this.”


End file.
